


the proof will be my body

by fatsuffices (wrenchwench)



Category: Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: I am not sorry, M/M, Other, all i know is that they love each other, all my other fics are tagged sorry robin hobb!, and theyre taking the opportunity to make love for the first time, are they dead and in the skill river or some other afterlife? is this some kind of au?, but actually, dont expect any explanation herein. only vibes, i am not sorry robin hobb, idk buddy you tell me, nighteyes is out hunting, theyre in a cosy little cottage in the woods somewhere, this starts in medias res btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenchwench/pseuds/fatsuffices
Summary: in the end, they come to an understanding.
Relationships: FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	the proof will be my body

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has explicit mention of beloved's genitalia! they are what we might call intersex, although as far as beloved knows this is just what Whites Are Like. maybe they are! i don't know. beloved has a vagina and a penis, although neither of them are explicitly named in the text. fitz uses 'he/him' pronouns for beloved, as happens in canon.

“It does not have to be now,” he said to me, and looked distressed. Was he worried I would turn him away now, when I knew he wanted so much to have what I had offered? I ignored him, merely continuing to squirm out of my tunic and leggings. I dropped them onto the floor, unheeding of where they landed, and he came behind me, picking them up and folding them. He pulled at the material, fussing at it, trying to make it lie flat. I took them from him.

“They’re dirty,” I said, and threw them at the wicker basket in the corner of the room. “They don’t need to be folded. Come on.” 

I took his hand and drew him towards the bed. We had decided to do this in his room, where the bed was big enough for both of us. He had changed the sheets that morning, and the blankets were perfectly laid out, each pillow and bolster in its place. I was quite looking forward to ruining it. I turned to say so to him and saw his expression.

“What’s wrong?” I said, sitting down on the bed and pulling him to stand between my thighs. “I would have thought you’d be excited, not on the verge of tears. Do you not want to?”

He shook his head, then nodded, then snorted, clearly frustrated with himself. 

“I want to,” he said. “I’m just nervous. And worried that you’re only doing this because I want to do it. And also worried that you’ll hate me afterwards. Well, perhaps not hate me. But that you won’t enjoy it, and then everything afterwards will be awkward, and we will avoid each other.”

“Would you avoid me?” I said, resting my hands on his waist, my thumbs settling into the dip of skin where his hips met his body. I stroked them over his shirt, coaxing it up from where it was tucked into his skirt. 

“No,” he said, reluctantly, clearly still caught up in his thoughts.

“And I will not avoid you, either. At the end of this, either we will both want to continue, one of us will not want to continue, or both of us will not want to continue. And however it ends, I promise I will not change how I am with you - except for the positive, of course.”

He made a soft noise, either of assent or of pleasure. I had managed to get his shirt loose from the waistband of the skirt, and my hands had slipped underneath to touch him skin-to-skin.

“Tell me if I’m doing something you don’t want,” I said, and he nodded, but did not speak, merely leaning forward and down to press his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. 

I counted his ribs with my fingertips, and came up with eleven on each side, which was one pair less than I had. I frowned and counted again, but came up with the same number. I decided not to ask him. This, like his wrists, and his skin-changing, was simply some way in which he was different from me. And of course, there was one specific way in which we differed, which we were both very aware of. I was anticipatory of how it would be to explore him fully. But first, we had other things to think of.

”I like this skirt on you,” I said, startling a laugh out of him. 

“I know,” he said, straightening and stepping back from me. “I see you looking, sometimes.”

“I don’t mean to stare. You catch my eye, at times.”

“Do I?” His face lit up, and he raised a hand, stroking it through his cloud of hair, his cheeks pinking slightly. “And now?”

He took the shirt between his hands and gently tugged it up and over his head. I sat up straighter, swallowing. Even now he tended not to get undressed in front of me. I, on the other hand, went shirtless quite often, and was not unaware of his eyes on me as I did. Seeing him strip was a rarity, and I was determined not to let it slip away from me. I reached out to him, grazing his stomach, but he danced backwards again, and I fell back onto the bed with a defeated groan.

“Will you not let me touch you, at least?” I said, and heard him laugh. I sat up onto my elbows and watched him. His skin caught the flickering light from the fire, and made shadows on him, casting him in gold. He swayed his hips a little, the skirt following his motion, then twirled. I opened my mouth to tease him for stalling, and then choked on my words. His skirt had flared to reveal a tantalising glimpse of bared skin. 

“Are you not wearing underthings?” I said, mouth dry. I hadn’t been able to see much, but the tops of his thighs were bare, at least, and I was certain that I had seen his backside also, but couldn’t be sure. He didn’t answer me, but came a little closer. He looked a lot more confident than he had before. I sat up and reached for him again, and this time he let me.

“Why don’t you find out?” he said, and guided my hands to where the skirt fastened at the back. This brought my face in very close proximity to his chest, and he did not quite seem to realise this until I leaned forward and nuzzled him. He made a little squeak, and I decided to further press my luck by ignoring the buttons of the skirt and instead taking a double handful of what it hid instead. I squeezed gently, and he pressed his face into my hair and took a deep breath.

“Fitz,” he said, and I made a noise of acknowledgement, busily pressing kisses to his breastbone. “Fitz,” he said again, and I sighed. I began to undo the skirt. 

“These tiny buttons you favour,” I said, “are not easier to manage when I cannot see them.”

“But they are pretty,” he said, and I grunted. The last button was evading me. Eventually I simply tugged, and listened to the button skitter away over the floor. He slapped me on the arm. 

“I’ll mend it,” I promised, and slid the skirt off him. He raised his foot and kicked it away from us, and I leaned back to catch a glimpse of what he’d hidden beneath, but he covered my eyes with his palm.

“You have to wait,” he said. “I simply cannot reward your bad behaviour.”

Instead, he knelt, sitting on his heels. Immediately I felt my heart beat faster. I was still more dressed than him, as I had not yet stripped from my underwear, but the thin linen was not hiding much of me, and his face was so close... For a moment, he simply looked at my body, at the reaction in me that he’d caused, and then up at my face. I flushed. 

“Enjoying the view?” I said, spreading my legs slightly. He didn’t answer me, but instead ducked his head to lay it on my thigh. One of his hands grew ever closer to where the tent in my smallclothes was becoming more prominent. 

“Wait,” I said. He froze, then made as if to get up. I caught him by the shoulders. His eyes were wide. 

“If you don’t want to,” he started, and I laid my hand over his mouth.

“I said wait, not stop. I don’t want you to touch me there until we’ve done something else.”

And so saying, I bent down and kissed him. He drew in a little breath through his nose, then his hands came up to my face and he relaxed. I had not realised until that moment how tense he was, but it was immediately apparent as he swayed forward into me that he had been holding back. For a few moments the kiss was chaste, and then he tentatively brushed my lower lip with his tongue, and I opened to him, letting him take the upper hand. I wasn’t certain how he liked to kiss. Everyone I had ever kissed had been different. Molly liked to take charge, and would often hold me still beneath her. Starling wasn’t much for kissing and preferred to use her mouth on my neck and chest instead. Jinna had been soft and simple. I myself didn’t have many preferences that I knew of. I was happy to simply kiss.

Immediately I noted that he, out of everyone I’d ever kissed, was the most like me. He copied my every movement, seeming to note what I preferred and turning it back on me. Curiously, I tried something I knew I did like, to see if he enjoyed it too. Taking his bottom lip between my own, I sucked it gently, then dragged my teeth across it, and was delighted to hear him whine into my mouth. 

He broke away from me to take a deep breath, and I pressed my palms against his breast to feel his heart racing. 

“Aren’t your knees sore?” I said, and he shook his head. He looked up at me, lips shiny, and looked like he was going to say something. I ducked my head and kissed him again, thumbing his nipples, and he moaned, hands clutching at my thighs through my underwear. Then, having remembered that I was not naked, he took a good grasp of the linen and pulled, dragging them down to my knees. This time it was my turn to moan. 

“Not,” he said, a little breathless, “that I want to rush you, but I am finding myself rather eager.”

“Mmm,” I said, and felt my last item of clothing leave me completely, catching slightly on my ankle as he pulled. Naked, I lay before him, and he gazed at me, open mouthed.

“You’ve seen me nude before,” I reminded him, and he shook his head. 

“Not like this.” 

He reached out and ran a fingertip from the root of me to the tip. This single touch was enough to make my heart stutter. I fought not to show too much of a reaction. I had my pride, after all, but of course he knew, and laughed anyway, in that way he had when he was pleased by me. Then, as if to reward me, he followed the same line with his tongue, and then took me in his mouth. 

I couldn’t help but cry out, and my hands jerked up from where I had been gripping the sheets. I couldn’t keep them still, and as I clenched and unclenched my fists, he reached over to grasp one of my wrists. I could not quite believe it when he laid my hand on his head. I put the other there also, and gently ran my fingers through his hair, hearing him give a little approving noise. This had the interesting effect of sending vibrations through the head of my cock as it slid between his lips, and my hips gave a little judder upwards, deeper into his mouth than he’d previously taken me.

“Sorry,” I gasped, sitting up a little as he pulled off me, taking a deeper breath.

“Don’t be,” he said, and his hands came to rest on my lower back, fingers pressing just above my backside. “You can,” he started, and then swallowed, continuing, “you can use your hands, if you want to.”

I didn’t quite understand him until he bent his head and took me in, deeper, almost to the base. My hands fisted in his hair and I pulled, at first without meaning to, and then when he moaned I understood, and tugged a little harder. His hands at my back slid a little lower, squeezing. I could feel the suction increase every time I moved his head. This was not something I would have expected him to enjoy, this kind of being led, but his eyes were closed, and every so often he would make a little choked noise of pleasure.

“Yes,” I said, and then, “wait- wait!”

His eyes opened and he looked up at me, then pulled away. He brought up the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, and his chest heaved, pulling in air. My hands, still cradling his head, were shaking.

“I won’t last,” I said. “Let me touch you?”

I phrased it as a request, and not an order. Something in me was still afraid of him holding back from me, and I could tell he wasn’t comfortable in the way his gaze slid away from mine.

“I already know your body,” I said, trying to comfort him, but he shook his head.

“Knowing and seeing are two different things, Fitz. I have never shown anyone this. Not willingly, anyway.”

My stomach soured a little at this reminder of the life he’d lived. I never wanted him to feel that way around me.

“I’d never,” I started, and he reached up to cover my mouth. I waited for him to reject me, but instead he smiled and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “you wouldn’t. Very well, Fitz. Forgive my nerves.”

He pushed at my chest, so that I slid backwards on the bed, giving him space to crawl up after me. He knelt over me, and I kept my eyes on his face with a great effort. I think he noticed this, because his smile became softer, and he took my hands once more, guiding them down his body, over his chest and stomach, down to his thighs. I watched this progression, breath quickening along with his.

“This,” he said, framing himself with his fingers, “is what I’ve been hiding, Fitz.”

He was, in fact, wearing smallclothes, although they were not like any other underthings I had ever seen. Thin and lacy, they clung to his body in ways that I very much appreciated. He had a garter on, too, on one thigh, and I slid my thumb under it, petting. Between his legs, his fingers surrounded a bump in the fabric, and the wet spot there. I reached out one finger and touched him, running my touch gently down the length of him as he had done to me. He sighed, arching back, exposing more of himself.

“Here, too,” he said, and I put my thumb to the other wet spot, this one fully between his thighs.

“This one I am more familiar with,” I said, and he snorted at me, sitting up, trapping my hand beneath him. 

“I would expect you to be more familiar with the thing that is like your own,” he said tartly.

“Why?” I replied. “After all, I’ve only ever touched my own. Whereas this,” and here I pushed against the warm wet spot, stretching the fabric as I applied pressure, making his eyes widen, “this, I have seen more than one example of, and so I have more experience. Do you not find my logic sound?”

I had made him laugh, my goal accomplished. Above me, his shoulders shook, and he covered his face with his hand, his eyes scrunched closed in amusement. 

“Very good, Fitz,” he managed, “very good- oh- oh,  _ oh _ , very g-good--”

I had nudged the fabric to one side and was brushing over his entrance softly. He fumbled at his sides, and I saw him tugging at the silken ties, which unravelled to allow the fabric to be pulled away. It hit the floor with a little more noise than silk usually would.

“You’re wet,” I observed, and he rolled his eyes at me, a little more exaggeratedly than he usually would.

“Really?” he said, voice very steady in a way that suggested he was forcing himself to be calm. “I had no idea. Yes, you may, of course.”

This last was in reply to my unspoken question. I had drawn my hand back from beneath him, and was not quite touching his erection. Permission given, I took him in hand.

“Feels strange to touch one that’s not mine,” I said to him, and squeezed a little, making him grip my shoulders tightly. He looked like he was going to say something rude, so I preempted him and caught his mouth with mine. As I did so, I swiped my thumb over his crown, gathering the liquid there, and his hips twitched forward. I loosed my grip a little and gave an encouraging little stroke, and he began to move, making tiny little back and forth motions of his hips as he pleasured himself with my hand. 

For a few minutes the room was quite quiet, only our breathing and the crackle of the fire breaking the silence. He was less noisy than I had been, but every hitch of his breath was like a shout to me. I learned him then, how he liked to be stroked. Not like me - I liked it quite roughly, with a twist at the head and a squeeze at the bottom, steady regular strokes of all one length. He seemed to prefer a gentler hold, never rocking the same way twice, fingertips working over the top. 

He was small enough that when I closed my fingers, I covered him entirely, and cut, too, which was strange to me. I rubbed my thumb against the tip of him and he sighed against my neck, hands winding into my hair. My other hand moved round and under his thigh, and I stroked my fingers against him, trying not to be too rough, unsure of whether he’d want me to put them inside or not. After a moment, however, he sat back and nudged at me, and I withdrew. 

“Let’s,” he said, and my breath caught as he reached behind himself and took me awkwardly into his hand, guiding me to his entrance. I grabbed his hips and held him still.

“No,” I said, “no. You’re not ready.”

“I have been ready for this, Fitz, for longer than you know-” 

I interrupted him, rolling us over so he was beneath me and I lay between his parted legs.

“I do not mean to say you are not willing,” I said, squirming down the bed and hiking his legs up over my shoulders, “only that I would like to prepare you, if I may. Being wet does not mean being open.”

He blinked at me, then gave a tiny nod, and with that, I pressed my mouth to him. I knew I could not spend long at this, which was a shame, as I rather enjoyed this particular act. I knew I was good at it, too, and my pride was only bolstered by how his hips jerked up into my mouth desperately as I licked at him. He tasted much the same there as he did when I kissed him - almost tasteless, but there was something that I couldn’t quite name. I pressed my tongue deeper, searching, and caught it again. I decided that although he was nothing like anything I’d ever tasted, it was certain to become a favourite flavour.

Drawing back, I ran my tongue up further, making to mouth at where he was still hard and dripping, but he shoved at my head and made a noise of frustration and want. 

“If you start that,” he said, letting his legs fall off my shoulders onto the bed, “we will be finished in very short order.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I would. I want you-”

He cut himself off, and I watched in delight as he flushed slowly, his cheeks reddening.

“Go on,” I said, my voice rough. “Say it.”

He swallowed, then wet his lips, pink tongue flashing. He could not keep eye contact with me for more than a second at a time.

“I want you,” he said, “inside me.” I made a little whine, and he licked his lips again, taking a deeper breath, seemingly becoming more confident after seeing me react to him. “I want you, Fitz, please. I want to feel you inside me- oh!”

I could not hold back much longer, and had slid a finger inside him. He squeezed round it, and I added another, and another as he took me easily. 

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” he said impatiently, “you made sure of it, please stop making me wait, I can’t stand it.”

“Hush,” I said, and drew him closer. “Do you want it like this, or like before?”

I meant with him on top. He looked at me, looming above him, and grasped at my arms, levering himself up to kiss me.

“Like this,” he said against my lips, and I nodded quickly. Everything seemed to be happening very fast. He reached down between us and took me in hand once more, stroking me, and then guided me once more to where his entrance was, now much more wet and ready for me to enter him. I pushed, and he opened beneath me with a shudder and a little cry.

Once inside, I turned my face against his neck and breathed there. I could feel him shaking, or perhaps it was me. He still held my arms, fingers curled round my biceps, and his breath ran down over my chest in little cool bursts.

I drew back, and he clutched at me. His head tipped back to rest on the pillow, and the line of his throat was so perfect that I could not help but give in to the urge to lean down and bite at it, sucking a mark there beneath his ear where I would see it every day. I began to thrust in earnest, eyes closed, thinking of how it would be now that this thing had been broached between us. I could kiss him whenever I wanted. Pick him up and carry him, press our bodies together when we hugged, bathe with him. And, of course, this. 

“Fitz!” he cried out, and I realised I’d gotten rougher without meaning to, driving into him hard enough to shake the bedframe. I began to stop and apologise, but he locked his legs over my back and squeezed me with his thighs.

“Don’t stop,” he said, “I want more, harder... yes! Like that! Like that!”

“Keep talking,” I said, and moved to brace myself on one elbow. My other hand moved down to where he was dripping pearls of come onto his stomach. I wiped them off with my thumb and pressed it to my mouth, tasting nothing more than that same faint musk. He had just taken a breath, probably to say something, but as he watched me all he let out was a tortured moan.

“Fitz, that is  _ - _ you are- I never expected you to- to be so- oh, oh- so good! I never thought I would see you like this, over me, only in my wildest dreams did I ever fantasize that this could ever come to be and yet- and yet-”

His speech devolved into mere noises as I began to stroke him, and his hips began to lift more solidly into mine. His body moved sinuously, in waves, and as we began to rise towards that peak he seemed unable to speak at all. I tilted my hips and thrust a little more firmly and he keened, and I did it again, provoking more sound, and I could not help but answer it with my own pleasured noises. 

“I’m close,” I managed, after a moment. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and nodded. I couldn’t tell if this meant he was too.

“I have to pull out,” I said, “otherwise- otherwise I’ll-”  _ come inside you, _ I didn’t say, but he heard me anyway, and pulled at my hair until I followed his lead and kissed him.

“Do it,” he breathed, and I bit his lip, not hard. “Do it, Fitz. Do it, I want it.”

I took his hips and held him still, down on the bed, and pressed forwards. I was aware I was being rougher than I should, but I was past the point of being able to stop myself, and the noises he was making did not encourage me to do so. Heat rose in me, slowly at first, and then in a sudden flash of pleasure that was overwhelming. I arched back, rutting into him and hearing him gasp as I came inside, filling him. There was a little feral part of me at the back of my mind growling  _ mine mine mine _ and I realised I was saying it out loud as he replied in kind.

“Yes,” he said against my throat, lips pressing against where my pulse thundered, “yours, yours, always yours..”

He hadn’t finished, I realised blurrily, and although my arms were trembling with effort I sat up onto my heels and dragged him up after me to sit in my lap. The new position meant that gravity was on our side.

“Ride me,” I said, and kissed him as he sought his own pleasure. My hand found its way to his cock again, stroking, and he let his head fall back, hair spilling down. I felt it when he started to come, hips losing their rhythm, and I did my best to push up into him to help him along.

“Fitz,” he said, desperate, and I squeezed him in my hand, watching his face.

“Come, Beloved,” I said, and he did, breaths turning to gasps turning to jerky little sobs, spilling into my hand, tears sliding from his eyes with the relief of it all. I stroked him through it, feeling him simultaneously pulse in my hand and squeeze me inside, and closed my eyes, and thought about how lucky I was.

Afterwards, we lay together on the messy sheets and breathed. We knew that we would eventually have to get up and wash, change the bedding, eat. But for now, in this moment, we both simply existed, linked together in pleasure. 

“Love you,” I said, drifting, and he sighed against my chest where his head rested.

“Love you too,” he said.

This was enough, and so we slept.


End file.
